


Dismissive

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: D/s, Face-Fucking, Humiliation, M/M, bottom!Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1326265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The <em>second</em> he did it, made that dismissive wave that was so in character, so <em>instinctive</em> for the portrayal of his public persona, Mycroft knew he was in trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dismissive

The _second_ he did it, made that dismissive wave that was so in character, so _instinctive_ for the portrayal of his public persona, Mycroft knew he was in trouble.

Oh yes, by the way that one eyebrow ticked up ever so slightly, those dark eyes hardened faintly, yes, Mycroft would be paying for that thoughtless bit of arrogance.

He just didn't think it would be like this.

 _Three_ days.

Three days with no contact.

Mycroft couldn't help himself from watching Greg spend hours sitting in front of his open living room window doing absolutely nothing, time that they could have spent together. And the Detective Inspector was doing it deliberately, putting on a show that anyone could see but only they two would understand.

It took just three days for the most powerful man in the British Empire to crack.

He spent an hour composing text after text, searching for that perfect combination of words that would express his apologies without expressing the weak neediness that he felt building within.

He was deleting yet another text when the phone buzzed in his hand.

 **Blocked:** TAJ SAT 17 M.A.

Settling the phone down carefully, Mycroft rested his face in the palms of his hands, giving himself ten seconds to breathe, then picked up the phone again and called Anthea.

“I need a reservation for Saturday, 5 o'clock at the Taj. Book it under Mark Anthony.”

As he hung up, he took another deep breath, swore softly and lit a cigarette.

\---

And now he here was, just over an hour into their planned tryst, and he was still being ignored.

Mycroft had slipped in the door, carefully folded his clothes to the side, and donned the collar with its simple D rings and the tag with the elegant engraving of Greg's initials. Gracefully folding himself into the kneeling position that Lestrade required of him, he settled by the door and waited.

And waited.

He watched Greg through his lashes for the first few minutes, but he simply read his paper, drank his beer, and didn't even look in Mycroft's direction.

Mycroft went through his routine of tightening and relaxing all of his muscles, starting with his toes, working his way upwards, as his mind drifted back to the beginning of all this.

\---

“Detective Inspector Lestrade to see you, sir.”

“Ah yes, do send him in.”

The man from Scotland Yard strode into the office, cheap suit and ill-fitting shoes a marked contrast to the perfectly tailored government official. And yet somehow, he seemed to make himself the focus of the room without even trying.

Mycroft eyed the other man a moment, making note of the way that he was _acting_ at being humble, the underlying confidence that showed through the set of his shoulders, though he carried his hat in his hand.

“I have a proposition for you, Detective Inspector.”

An arched brow was his only response, further solidifying Mycroft's deduction that there was more beneath the surface of this man.

He'd assumed there had to be, afterall an extensive background search gave him absolutely nothing with which to bargain. There was the occasional reprimand, or small debt, but all of it seemed carefully engineered to raise absolutely no red flags whatsoever.

Mycroft found that intriguing.

He briefly sketched out a backstory of his wayward brother, the drug addiction, the intellect, and the request that he be asked to consult on difficult and strange cases.

He then offered a substantial sum, to cover any 'bureaucratic nonsense' that might arise.

Lestrade shifted his stance slightly, then shook his head. “Nah.”

Mycroft blinked a moment, but the Detective Inspector continued before he could respond.

“Don't need your money, Holmes. I'll get your brother in on some cases, that I'll do. But for him, not you. There's only one thing I want.”

He took a step forward, towards the uncharacteristically silent Mycroft, tossing something down onto his desk, something wrapped in brown paper that jingled faintly when it hit the polished wood surface. Without another word, he nodded once, and then turned on his heel and left the office.

After staring at the package for nearly a minute, Mycroft reached out, opening it carefully, and out of the sight of the cameras in the room. His eyes flared briefly in surprise, and then he folded it away, tucking it into the pocket of his greatcoat.

He wouldn't touch it again until he got home, safe from the prying eyes of Big Brother. Inside the package, Mycroft would find that collar, initials newly carved into gleaming metal, along with a card from a decent hotel. Flipping it over, there was a time and room number inscribed in what he recognized as Lestrade's handwriting.

Obviously, he had gone.

\---

His attention was jerked back to the present when Greg shifted, folding his paper carefully to the side, and then downing the last of his drink. Rising, he came over to where Mycroft awaited him, desperately trying to conceal how grateful he was to finally be getting some attention.

Reaching for his zipper, Greg pulled forth his half-hard length, pressing it between Mycroft's eagerly parted lips. Grabbing a fistful of the kneeling man's hair, Lestrade fucked his mouth rapidly, smirking when he felt the moan reverberating around his cock when he slid himself into Mycroft's throat. Greg used that mouth to pleasure himself until he felt the crest of his orgasm, and pulled out quickly, in order to finish with a grunt, coating Mycroft's face.

After a few deep breaths, he tucked himself away, crouching down to reach for Mycroft's arousal, hard and leaking between parted legs, chuckling low at the whine that the touch brought forth.

“The man who runs the British Government. What d'ya think they'd say if they could see you now? On your knees, covered in another man's come..” He gave Mycroft's length a few quick strokes, leaning in to sink his teeth into the kneeling man's shoulder before whispering into his ear. “If they could see how much you're enjoying it.. I bet you'd not be so arrogant then.”

When Lestrade pulled his hand away, Mycroft whimpered, hips jerking in search of friction, making the Detective Inspector chuckle again.

“Oh no, pet. Punishment first. And you have _earned_ it this time.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a little thing that came to me after a rewatch where I wondered how Mystrade-Greg would respond to that obnoxious little shooing from Mycroft.
> 
> Let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged. <3
> 
> [Tumblr](http://goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com/)


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